


linger on your pale blue eyes

by brigsbeebear



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Repression, sorry if this isn't historically accurate i'm stupid, spoilers for ep 3, title is a velvet underground lyric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 14:02:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20175466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brigsbeebear/pseuds/brigsbeebear
Summary: After Crowley saves the books from the church bombing in 1941, Aziraphale can't figure out why he would do such a thing. So, he asks Crowley.





	linger on your pale blue eyes

**Author's Note:**

> i'm obsessed with good omens and these dumbos are in love so. thought i'd write a fic. comments/criticisms are greatly appreciated! shout out to betsy for beta reading and for putting up with my good omens rambles. i do not own the characters or the show, etcetera.

The air was thick. When Aziraphale’s brain finally caught up with reality, that was the first thing he noticed. He didn't need to breathe, technically speaking, but he had made a habit out of it, and the air was viscous and tasted like ash. He coughed. Then, he remembered Crowley. Aziraphale took his hat off slowly, and turned his head to look at him. 

“That was very kind of you.” Crowley looked up from wiping off his sunglasses and narrowed his eyes.

“Shut up.” A ghost of a smile lingered on Crowley’s face, which betrayed what was supposed to be a menacing, don’t-mess-with-me tone. 

“Well, it was. No paperwork, for a start.” Aziraphale didn’t know why he was tip-toeing the line he and Crowley always ended up at, he knew it probably would end with him, heartbroken, and a permanent spot in The Almighty’s bad books. He kept pushing anyway. Maybe, one day, Crowley would push back. He didn’t really care about God’s bad books anyway. Aziraphale’s eyes widened in realization. 

“Oh, the books! Oh, I forgot all the books! Oh, they’ll all be blown to-” Crowley started walking toward him, cutting off Aziraphale’s disappointed rambling. Crowley reached down into the rubble while Aziraphale’s eyes followed the action. He grunted, pulling the bag of books from an arm trapped under a decent sized piece of charred wood. He handed it to Aziraphale, who took it numbly.

“Little demonic miracle of my own.” Crowley met eyes with the angel for a second before looking at the ground and walking past him.

“Lift home?” The demon spoke nonchalantly as he walked across the burned wood and stone that used to be a church. Aziraphale barely heard him. He stared at the demon’s back, then at the books, and then at some random point on the horizon line that he wasn’t actually looking at. His brain was in overdrive. 

Crowley had done various acts for the angel that could be deemed “nice” to some degree, no matter how much he tried to deny it. However, it always seemed like he did it out of convenience. He did it to keep Aziraphale alive, sure, but he only kept Aziraphale around so they could continue the Arrangement. The Arrangement made both of their jobs easier, and it would be hard finding another angel that would do his evil bidding every so often. Aziraphale hadn’t even been sure the Arrangement was still on, due to their… argument in 1862. He hadn’t heard from Crowley since then. 79 years. A human lifetime of no letters. No calls. No shared lunches or meetings in the park. It took the experience of being away from the demon for almost 80 years for Aziraphale to realize that he cared for Crowley. More than just a surface level, angels-care-for-all-creatures way. It was more like a… missing him when he wasn’t around--whether it was 20 minutes or 20 years--wanting to kiss him way. Not that he would ever act on it. As an angel, he could sense love. Whether it was platonic love, romantic love, familial love, or something else entirely. Crowley never gave off any type of love around him. Radio silence for almost six millennia. Which was fine. Aziraphale was fine with that. Crowley would never care about him like that, which he made peace with a long time ago. That’s why Crowley saving the books threw him off so much. The books being lost wouldn’t affect The Arrangement. It would just upset Aziraphale quite a bit. The books were only important to him. So why? Why save them? He was terribly confused about the entire situation. 

“Angel? You comin’?” Crowley was across the street with his hands on top of a slick black car that Aziraphale had never seen before. He must’ve gotten it during their break. Aziraphale blinked several times and huffed out a laugh. 

“Yes, my dear. I apologize. Must have gotten lost in thought.” He willed his feet to move. 

“‘S’alright angel.” Crowley got into the car and leaned across the seat to open the passenger side door. He swung his left arm over the seat back, and left it there. Aziraphale was acutely aware of the arm inches away from his neck as he slid into the seat. He set the bag on the floor in front of him.

“Nice, um. Nice car.” Aziraphale started to think he should’ve walked home, and Crowley hadn’t even left yet. The demon turned on the car. 

“Thanks. Always wanted a Bentley, decided to buy one. Well--not buy. Another demonic miracle of my own, you could say.” He flashed Aziraphale a shit-eating grin and shifted the car into gear. Azirphale laughed nervously for a moment before his breath caught in his throat as Crowley sped off in the direction of the bookshop. 

“Crowley--for heaven’s--slow down!” Aziraphale nearly screeched as he gripped the leather seat in one hand and braced the roof of the car with the other. Crowley laughed loudly as he sped up. 

“You scared, Aziraphale?” 

“Very--very much so!” Aziraphale was still in shock over the books and could barely form sentences without having to worry about being discorporated. Crowley veered around a corner at a solid 150 kilometers per hour causing Aziraphale lose his grip on the seat and collapse into Crowley’s side. He fumbled back into his seat, accidentally putting his hand on Crowley’s thigh in the process. He blushed profusely and scooted as far away from the demon as he could, pressing his side against the door. He pretended the blurred streets outside were worthy of his undivided attention.

“Sorry, Crowley, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright. No need to apologize.”

It was silent for awhile and Aziraphale could feel Crowley looking at him every once in a while but refused to look at him. He turned the last half an hour over and over again in his mind. It just left him more confused the more he thought about it.

“Aziraphale!” The angel whipped his head around towards Crowley.

“What?”

“We’re here, angel. That was the third time I said your name. Your head must be somewhere else. I guess experiencing a nuclear bombing will do that to y-”

“Why did you save the books?” Aziraphale blurted it out before he could stop himself. Crowley looked as if he’d been slapped.

“What do you mean?” Crowley’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, turning his knuckles white. He was staring straight ahead. 

“Why did you--why did you save the books? You didn’t need to.” Aziraphale stared hard at Crowley, feeling a sudden burst of courage.

“Well, I mean, they’re first editions.” Crowley turned slightly, looking over Aziraphale’s shoulder. He shrugged.

“But you don’t care about that. You don’t read.”

“I read!”

“No, you don’t.”

Crowley scrubbed his hands down his face and sighed. 

“Okay. Fine. I don’t read. But I still care about literature! Y’know! For other people to enjoy!” Crowley began gesticulating manically, as if that would prove his point.

“No! You don’t! You don’t like Hamlet!” 

“Nobody likes Hamlet!” 

“I like Hamlet!”

“You like everything!” Crowley was yelling. 

“That isn’t true.” Aziraphale was desperately trying to find something on his face that would let the angel know what he was thinking, but to no avail. Aziraphale shook his head. “That’s not the point, Crowley. Stop lying.” Crowley scoffed.

“First of all, you don’t know that I’m lying. Second of all, I’m a demon. I’m supposed to lie. It’s in the job description.”

“You’re not supposed to lie to me. Not to me, Crowley.” Aziraphale was just trying to get the truth out of him, but he was struck by the weight of his statement. 

“Whatever, angel.”

“It’s not whatever. Why don’t you just--”

“Fuck, Aziraphale! I saved them because they’re important to you! And I don’t like the thought of you being upset! Because I’m in love you, okay? Are you happy now?” Crowley ran his hand through his hair as he breathed heavily. He laughed once. A gnarled bark of a laugh.

A pregnant silence filled the car as they stared at each other.

“No.” Aziraphale stated quietly, as his gaze shifted to his hands.

“No? What the hell do you mean, no? I’m sorry you don’t approve of my feelings, angel.” Crowley stared sadly at the stretch of street ahead of him. 

“No, that’s--I didn’t mean it like that.” Aziraphale shook his head and reached for Crowley’s arm, but the demon flinched away from the touch.

“How else am I supposed to take that?” Crowley’s voice cracked on the last word.

“Crowley, if you lo--” Aziraphale cut himself off and looked at his lap. “Felt that way about me, I would know. I would sense it. I can sense that sort of thing. And I’ve never felt any sort of… that from you. I was never even sure if you liked having me around. I always thought my meaning to you was based on convenience.” He blushed as he finished speaking and looked up at Crowley. Silence fell again. Crowley stared at him and spoke in an incredulous tone. 

“You--you could sense it?”

“Well, usually, I’m quite good at that sort of thing.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, angel. Maybe you’ve lost your touch.” He giggled before remembering the severity of the situation.

“Are you lying?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded soft and fragile. Crowley took off his sunglasses.

“Why would I--are you kidding me? Why would I lie about this? I could be killed. Hell would have a field day. Not to mention what could happen to you. And you might hate me now. I have nothing to gain and everything to lose, Aziraphale. I’m not lying. Please know I would never lie about this.” Without the sunglasses, Aziraphale could see every emotion Crowley was feeling and saw his own feelings reflected there.

“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t imagine you being in love with me. I’m so normal and--and boring. I started to fall in love after you saved me in Paris, but I buried those feelings and tried to ignore them. And then you asked for the holy water and we fought and I didn’t see you for so long and that helped me realize that I was--am--in love with you. But you always seemed so annoyed with me, especially after what happened in 1862. And you didn’t write or try to contact me in all that time and I just… I thought I had ruined everything. I thought I had ruined our friendship and I always thought romance was out of the equation, anyway. And I would rather see you sometimes as friends than--than never see you again.” Aziraphale could feel himself rambling and tried to cut himself off. “And there was the whole not-sensing-your-love thing. That threw an extra wrench into it all,” he added, and laughed to try to ease the tension.

What happened next happened very fast. Crowley threw his glasses haphazardly over his shoulder into the backseat, and slid over until he was in Aziraphale’s personal space. The angel could feel a slight burn where their knees and thighs were touching (not a Hellfire-punishment type burn, but the type of burn that reminds you that everything you are experiencing is real and you terrified but ecstatic). Then, Crowley leaned in close enough that he could feel the demon’s breath on his lips. He cradled Aziraphale’s face in his hands, and then hesitated.

“Angel, can I kiss you?” His voice was uncharacteristically gentle. Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s jacket and pulled, closing the distance between them. Crowley made a surprised sound in his throat before acclimating and slotting their lips together. It was something completely new, yet also intrinsically familiar, like coming home after years away. Every single cliché poem Aziraphale had ever read was right; he understood Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde and every other famous writer, but he also understood that deep down, he knew more about love than they did. Aziraphale dug one hand into Crowley’s hair; something he’d thought about doing for at least a hundred years. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how long they kissed, exploring each other this way, trying to memorize the experience. Eventually, their lips parted but they rested their foreheads against each other, reveling in the fact that they were allowed to be this close now. 

“I knew that would get you to shut up,” Crowley said, finally breaking the silence. 

“Hey! I can leave if you want me to!” Aziraphale fake-threatened. Crowley reached down and grabbed the angel’s hand in his.

“You know I would never ask that of you. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now, angel.” Crowley leaned his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and inhaled deeply. He felt an inner peace he hadn’t felt since… well, probably since before he Fell. 

“Oh, my dear. Please never think that I am ‘stuck with you.’ I treasure every moment with you.” Aziraphale absentmindedly carded his hand through the demon’s hair, and felt him shift as he burrowed deeper into Aziraphale’s shoulder as blush crept up his neck. “Crowley, are you blushing?”

“No. I’m a demon. No blushing allowed.”

“Whatever you say. Would you like to come in? I have an exquisite new wine I have been saving for a special occasion.”

They got out of the car, and entered the bookshop, and had a normal night for them; drinking and catching up and enjoying each other’s company. They did not know what was to come, and were unsure of their fate, but they had each other, which was all they needed.


End file.
